A Pinch of Salt
by Circa Soigne
Summary: When aspiring student chef Hermione Granger accepts Dumbledore's offer, things finally seem to be looking up for her. But when young, prodigy chef Tom Riddle gains a sudden interest in her, he obscures her path to success, leaving Hermione to learn to take everything with a pinch of salt.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Well, hello there. This is my first story on this site. As well as my first attempt at Tomione. I had this idea floating around for a while, so let's see where this goes. This story will be completely AU and I apologize in advance for any OOCness that may sprout down below or in the future. It's quite difficult capturing the essence of characters and their relationships. Especially when nothing dramatic is happening. There will be some fluff but it'll diminish as the story goes excuse any grammar mistakes that may appear. I'll do my best to reduce their appearance. And with that, let us begin!

**Disclaimer:** I, obviously, do not own Harry Potter. And never will, sadly.

* * *

**A Pinch of Salt**

**Chapter 1**

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Professor?"

The old man looked up from the work on his desk.

"Ah, yes. Please, Miss Granger, come in and take a seat," Dumbledore said, gesturing towards one of the plush armchairs across from him. Hermione went and sat down.

"Lemon drop?" he offered.

"No thank you, Professor. I don't want to be rude, but why am I here? I mean, if this is about my essay, then-"

"Oh, don't you worry Miss Granger. This is not about your essay, which although was three pages over the maximum, I found very insightful," Dumbledore smiled at her, his eyes twinkling. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and returned a smile to her Professor, relaxing into the seat.

This was one of the things Hermione liked most about her old pastry teacher. He was always so welcoming and brought about a certain joy with him. He reminded her of Granddad Granger, who had passed a few years back, what with his white beard and thin framed glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

"Why I wanted to speak to you is because I have an offer to propose."

"An offer, Professor? Of what sort?" Hermione questioned. Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together and settling them on his stomach.

"As you already know, I own a restaurant down in London. One of my line chefs, Alicia Spinnet, is with child and is experiencing some complications in her pregnancy. Being only a few weeks before her due date, she needs some time off. So, Miss Spinnet will be on maternity leave starting next Monday and will return in two months time."

Hermione narrowed her eyes in confusion when he didn't continue.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't see what this has to do with me," Hermione admitted.

"Well, Miss Granger," Dumbledore continued, "It would seem that I am short of a chef now."

Her eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Sir, you don't mean-" she began.

"Yes, Hermione, when considering all other suitable replacements, you were the very first on my list. Think of this as a short internship of sorts. I believe it would benefit you greatly to get some hands on experience in a real restaurant kitchen as opposed to being stuck in the laboratories with your peers, whom you seem to be so greatly ahead of in your culinary education.

"Well, I would be honored to be able to cook in your restaurant, sir," Hermione said bashfully, blushing from his praise. The door to Dumbledore's office burst open then and Hermione's culinary science professor from the previous semester stood in all black clothing.

"One moment, Severus," Dumbledore called to the instructor. He then returned his attention back to Hermione. "Then it's settled. I'll email you with more information about the position this weekend. Now, if you excuse me, I do think Professor Snape becomes quite the grouch when he hasn't gotten his lunch yet."

Hermione stood and smiled, saying goodbye to Dumbledore and nodding to Snape on her way out. Once out the door, she turned down an empty hallway and looked both ways before letting out a small shriek of excitement. She was finally going to cook in a restaurant, and not just any restaurant, but Phoenix, for heaven's sake! Only one of the oldest and most popular restaurants in all of England. Every year, Phoenix had managed to pull a five star rating from nationally acclaimed food critic, Rita Skeeter, of The Daily Prophet in her monthly column To Eat or Not to Eat. It took nearly a year to just get a reservation there and now Hermione was going to be one of the chefs. Just think of the doors this will open up for her once she has graduated! She'll be getting offers left and right. Her heart jumped in eagerness and she power walked back to her flat in a daze.

* * *

"I don't know how you do it, Hermione," the red-head sighed.

"Do what?" Hermione asked, glancing up quickly at Ginny before returning to her task at hand.

"Make the things you do. It's like voodoo magic or something."

"It's called cooking, Ginny," she laughed, wiping her knife clean from the garlic she just minced.

"Oh, you know what I mean," the red-head exasperated, "Everything you make is always delicious. And you make it look so easy too. I don't even know why you follow those recipes and watch these shows," she gestured to the small television in the kitchen, "When I'm sure you probably already have everything already memorized."

Hermione grinned. "I do actually. But, I like having a recipe or some type of instruction to ensure accuracy."

"Pfft, sure Hermione. We know it's going to be great regardless," she smiled at her friend, "Though, I do have to admit, I'm a bit jealous. I suck at cooking. Maybe I would have snatched Harry faster if I were a better cook."

"I won't disagree with you there," Hermione laughed, looking back to the television screen.

"Now let's get that spinach finished. After it wilts, you're going to need to add about half a cup of dry white wine, which will enhance the natural flavor of the spinach and garlic. So, I'm just going to measure this out quickly..." the television bellowed.

Hermione didn't bother with measuring and poured some wine into the skillet, estimating the appropriate amount. The food in the pan sizzled loudly and she bent down to open the oven and took out the T-bone steaks and loaded baked potatoes she had prepared a bit earlier. She then began piling four brightly colored plates with food and with the help of Ginny, carried and placed them on her breakfast table. Hermione grinned at her waddling friend.

"How's little man doing?" Hermione asked, gesturing towards Ginny's swollen belly.

"Not too bad," the red-head replied, patting her stomach gently, "I can't wait until he's out, though, because my back is killing me. And not to mention I look like a beached whale."

Hermione laughed, "Oh don't be so dramatic, Ginny! I think you look positively radiant."

"Poppycock. Don't lie to a pregnant woman. We can see through the lot of you. Now, enough with this! I'm starving!" she snapped.

Hermione chuckled at her friend's moodiness.

"Boys! Food!" Hermione yelled to the living room. Both Ron and Harry were seated with their forks and knives in their hands before Hermione had the chance to sit down herself. She shook her head at their antics and began to cut up her steak.

"Blimey, Hermione!" Ron attempted to say behind a mouthful of food, "This is bloody brilliant!"

"Yeah Hermione, you've outdone yourself," Harry agreed.

She thanked her best friends for their flattery. Hermione never considered herself a great cook because she knew she wasn't. There was still some left to learn about the art of cooking and she fully intended to obtain that knowledge within a few months, being that she only had a few left until she would graduate from culinary school.

Hermione never thought that she would end up on the way to becoming a chef. During her secondary education at Hogwarts Preparatory Academy, Hermione was convinced that she would go to university and then attend school to become a lawyer. That all changed her last year of schooling when she had saved the life of Dennis Creevey, an adorable thirteen year-old boy who had nearly drowned to death in the school's swimming pool during practice. Seeing as the boy had not come up for air and the coach was nowhere to be found, Hermione sprung into action. She dove into the pool and gripped the boy with her arm around his waist. Once she got him laying on the poolside, she checked his breathing and pulse, finding little to none.

Panicking, Hermione quickly titled his head back and took one look at his angelic, dead looking face, placed her lips on top of his and began CPR. After a minute and a half of receiving no response, Hermione growled in frustration, ignoring the shocked and scared looks she was getting from students around them. Damnit Dennis, she had thought, come on! In helpless fury and Hermione twined her fingers together and slammed them hard over his heart once. Twice. Three times and the young brown haired boy shot up, his bright hazel eyes red and shining as he took in a shaky breath.

Ever since then, Hermione had decided to become a doctor of sorts. It felt good to help people and that incident with Creevey only furthered her passion and curiosity for learning medicine. That fueling her, Hermione had made it to her first year of medical school when she started to second guess herself. Her heart was in the right place, but studying medicine didn't exactly do it for her.

What did do it for her was all the cooking she had done those late nights staying up to study for exams through out her years. It was a relief to take her mind off of her studies and focus all of her attention to something else. It was then that she knew that culinary arts were her true calling. She had dropped out and immediately applied and got accepted into two of the top four culinary schools in all of England: the Ravenclaw School of Culinary Arts and Gryffindor College of Art and Design. She ultimately chose Gryffindor in the end, being that one of her idols, renowned chef Albus Dumbledore, had studied there himself and taught from time to time.

Pecking at her own food, Hermione decided that she wasn't that hungry and looked around to see Harry take his final bite, Ginny piling more food unto her plate, and Ron holding his plate up to his face, licking it clean.

"Stop that, Ron!" Ginny scolded her older brother, "God, you eat like a savage!"

"Oh quiet, Gin," Ron glared at his sister, "Everyone here saw you shove that steak down you throat. What serving are you on, huh? Sixth?"

"For your information, you git, it's my third! And don't you dare say anything else. As a pregnant woman, I am allowed to eat as much as I want," she snapped.

Ron rolled his eyes and wiped some sauce off his chin.

"Oh please, Gin, you've been using the pregnancy excuse for everything. 'Oh, I can't carry my purse because I'm pregnant! Oh, Ron, be a dear and go to the store for me, I can't, you see, 'cause I'm pregnant!' I've seen Mom do quadruple the things you do when she was pregnant, whilst taking care of six other kids!"

"Shove it, Ron. You're jus-"

"Alright, alright. Calm down, guys," Harry interrupted, getting up to go around the table and rest his hands on his fuming wife's shoulders. "Ron, it wouldn't hurt if you show some consideration for Ginny and at least try to have a bit of etiquette at the table. And you Ginny, just ignore Ron. You know he'll always try to bait you."

Ginny nodded while Ron snorted, but he held his tongue.

"The dinner was lovely, Hermione," Harry complimented.

"Thanks," Hermione grinned, "Would you all like dessert?"

"Yes, please!" both Ron and Ginny spoke simultaneously.

Standing up, Hermione chuckled, "I'll go get it."

She made her way into the kitchen and came back shortly after, holding a chocolate cake and four wine glasses. Setting them down, Hermione quickly retrieved a bottle of wine from the kitchen and made it back to the table, pouring some into three of the glasses.

"Sorry, Gin," Hermione apologized, noticing the scowl Ginny gave to her empty glass.

"It's fine," she breathed, "Only two more months."

"Don't worry. I have something for you," Hermione smirked. She left and came back five minutes later with a silver canister, shaking the contents on the inside, before pouring it into Ginny's glass and placing a lime slice on the rim. "Drink up," Hermione smiled.

She picked up the glass of pink liquid. "What is it?" Ginny inquired, delighted.

"A mocktail, if you will. It's a margarita, but I used ginger ale instead of tequila."

The red-head took a small sip. Eyes widening, she went back for another. "That's bloody good, Hermione! Still, I do miss the buzz..."

They continued chatting about asinine topics while they finished their dessert. After, Hermione proceeded to clear the table. With Harry's help, she loaded and set the dishwasher on.

Leaning onto the counter, Hermione faced her friends, who returned to her small living room.

"So.." she began, catching the others' attention, "I've been offered a cooking position."

"Oh, goody!" Ginny beamed, "By who? Where? When do you start? And most importantly, will I be able to eat there for free?"

"I'm not sure about that, Gin," Hermione laughed.

"So, where at, 'Mione?" Ron questioned.

"Have you heard of the restaurant down Hogsmeade, across from Honeydukes?

"Phoenix?" Harry guessed.

Ginny gasped, "Shut up! Phoenix? Are you kidding me? Hermione Jean Granger, please tell me that my friend did not get hired at the hottest, most expensive, luxurious restaurant in all of England!"

"Well, it is rather expensive, but I would not go as far to say that it's the most luxurious restaurant in all of England," Hermione reasoned.

"It's damn near close enough for me! Harry and I are still on the waiting list just to get a reservation, and it's been four bloody months already!" Ginny exclaimed.

"Then I will surely have to find a way to move you up on that list while I'm there."

"Congratulations, Hermione," Harry nodded, raising his glass to her before taking another sip.

"Yeah, Hermione, that's magnificent, really! We all knew you'd do great," Ron chimed in.

Hermione blushed bashfully under their praise and smiled in thanks. From there, the rest of the night went on as it usually did when Hermione invited the three over. They talked about everything going on in their lives, which was never anything out of the normal until Ginny began to yawn. Then, Harry insisted on taking his tired wife home to rest, leaving her to be alone with Ron.

"So, Hermione," Ron began, shortly after the door closed from the Potters' exit, "I've been thinking..."

Hermione huffed, "Please, Ronald, I'm not really in the mood to talk about this right now. Let me enjoy the night before it ends."

"Come on Mione', don't be like that."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Ever since her and Ron had a brief time period of mutual attraction that ended all too abruptly once Hermione began medical school, Ron had tried to pick back up where they left off. But Hermione just was not too interested anymore.

"I don't know, Ron..." she trailed off.

She mostly saw him as one of her best friends, but there was always something she held for him that went beyond friendship. Their short term relationship was enjoyable, but she forced herself to end it so she could focus on her studies. Her studies would always come first. But now, there was no need to forgo relationships. Med school was out the picture long ago and culinary school was nearly over.

She guessed it could not hurt to humor him. After all, the boy had been waiting for a bit over a year for her to come around. Maybe humoring him would get him off her back. And who knows? Maybe her and Ron still have a chance of making thinks work.

Looking at Ron's baby blue eyes, she could she the genuineness behind his pursuit of her. He honestly did believe that they could be together. So, sucking back her doubts, she trusted her friend's gut feeling and conceded.

"Brilliant!" He beamed at her, "How about sometime next week?"

"Sure," Hermione, murmured, biting her bottom lip.

"Don't worry so much," Ron cajoled her, "I promise you I'll be the perfect gentlemen."

She grinned in response to his lightheartedness.

* * *

_**Subject:**__ Additional Information _

_**From: **__Albus Dumbledore; adumble81 ac. uk. com _

_**Date:**__ Sunday, March 2, 2011 6:00PM _

_**To:**__ me _

_Dear Miss Granger, _

_I assume you already know the address, but in any case, Phoenix is located on Hogsmeade Boulevard, across from Honeydukes and to the right of Madam Puddifoot's. Please be there by 9AM sharp. Once there, you will be given further instruction. _

_Best Wishes, _

_Albus Dumbledore, Ph.D _

_Dean of Culinary Arts _

_Gryffindor College of Art and Design _

_Scotland, England _

* * *

Hermione read the email over again for what would have to be the seventeenth time that Monday morning. She had gotten up early and took her time showering and getting dressed. While it was the beginning of March and the sun had began to shine more often than not, the chill of winter would stay in the air for a few more months. With that, Hermione finished her small breakfast of toast and a cup of earl grey, wrapped her maroon scarf around her neck, and set out for London. Once she reached the corner of Knockturn Avenue and Hogsmeade Bouldevard, Hermione made a quick left passing Honeydukes and looking both ways, crossed the street.

The outside of Phoenix was open and inviting. While red cemented bricks held the foundation, the rest of the walls to the building were entirely glass. Hermione grabbed the French door handle and entered the empty restaurant. Almost immediately, her nose was assaulted with the most pleasant of scents. Phoenix smelled warm and cozy; the color amber, a soft cashmere sweater, an autumn afternoon. The walls on the inside were painted a deep blood red with a careful gold pattern painted across. There were cream colored booths against two walls and circular tables scattered across the room that all varied in size and covered in white table clothes with a small vase of cheerful flowers placed in the center. Hermione sighed, feeling strangely familiar in the establishment, though this was her first time ever stepping foot into it.

The door leading to the kitchens were of the purist white and had a small window in each door. Behind one of the windows, a head of white appears before the door is burst open and Albus Dumblerdore is striding towards her, a younger man in tow.

"Ah, Miss Granger! Right on time," he greets, eyes sparkling as ever, "Allow me to introduce you to Mister Longbottom, sous chef here at Phoenix. This here is my star pupil, and our newest line cook, Miss Granger."

"Please, call me Hermione. Nice to meet you," Hermione grinned, shaking the man's sweaty, outstretched hand. The brown-haired man blushed slightly under her gaze.

"And you as well. Call me Neville, if you want," he muttered. Hermione found his nervousness to be quite endearing.

"Mister Longbottom here will be showing you the ropes around here," Dumbledore continued.

"Great! I can't wait to start!" Hermione smiled.

"Well, I'll check back in later tonight. Best to get started you two, we open in three hours," Dumbledore announced happily, "I am one hundred percent sure you'll do an outstanding job, Miss Granger."

Hermione felt a bit anxious receiving his praise, but nonetheless forced a hesitant smile.

"Thank you, Professor. I'll give it my best go."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Hello all. Thanks for the responses I've been getting! Your encouragement means a lot to me! I would like to address something, though. Obviously, this story is Tomione. Now, a problem that I have encountered when reading Tomione is that sometimes the backbone of the stories are repeated. For example, I know we've all read the time travel fics that are all basically the same except for a few things here and there. As for the AUs, this can happen sometimes too. It's almost inevitable that there are going to be similarities between stories. However, I want to point out that while this one may seem a bit like other fics on here, the plot is wholely mine and I can promise you that my Tom and Hermione are going to be different. I just wanted to point that out in the beginning before I continue the fic.

Alright, with that said - here is chapter two!

* * *

**A Pinch of Salt**

**Chapter 2**

* * *

It took about thirty minutes for Neville to show Hermione around the kitchens completely, informing her of the whereabouts of just about everything and how each station works. When they reached an area near the back of the kitchen, more dimly lit than the others, Neville turned to face her.

"And this is your primary working area."

Hermione surveyed the dingy area.

"Yeah, sorry about that," he murmured sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck, "Everyone working in the kitchen starts out less than perfect."

"No, no," she dismissed his apology, "I actually do find it perfect. So, what am I in charge of?"

"You, Hermione, are in charge of doing the basics so the chefs higher up can focus on the more complicated parts. Sometimes you'll be cutting up vegetables, other times you'll be plating the food onto dishes. It varies, really. Wherever a hand is needed to get the order out faster, you will be there to give it."

Hermione was unsure of how she felt. She knew that she should not have expected much more out of the position being that it was her first day there and she had not even finished school yet, but the job seemed a bit tedious.

Neville looked at his watch. "It's almost ten. I'll introduce you to some of the others. They should be arriving by now."

Leading her across the kitchen and through another door, they stopped inside of a small carpeted room. There was an old coffee table in the center and a comfy looking, yet worn L-shaped couch in the corner. On the other side of the room was a tiny refrigerator and microwave on top. Next to it was a large open closet and two other doors - one leading to the outside and the other, a bright red, holding a plaque reading "Albus Dumbledore."

Just as she glanced away, the door leading to the outside opened, letting in a strong breeze and a small woman with long, wavy bleach blond hair.

"Good morning, Neville," the woman greeted airily.

"Luna," Neville nodded, blushing a deep red.

"Who's this?" the woman, Luna, asked, gesturing towards Hermione.

"This is Hermione Granger," he introduced, "Our new line chef."

"Oh, I wasn't aware Alicia had left."

Before Hermione could respond, the blond spoke again. "You don't look like a Hermione."

"Pardon?"

"Hermione. Hermione Granger. Granger. It doesn't fit."

"Umm...I-"

"Jasmine, Lori, Kelly, Caroline, Jessica, Melanie, Patricia..." Luna started muttering.

Hermione looked at Neville, confused. He shook his head. "It took her a year to call me Neville. I used to be David Phillips."

"Beatrice, Maria, Marisol, Danielle, Penelope, Daria, Deborah, Meredith..."

"She does this to everyone?" she whispered as Luna's eyes zoned in on a spot above her head. The door opened and another person entered, going to the closet to hang up their coat.

"Pretty much. I think it helps her remember your face."

"Farah, Nicole, Bethany, Rasputia, Ophelia, Helen - ah! Yes! Yes. Helen. Helen Tansley. Perfect," the blond smiled slowly, "I'm Luna Lovegood. Pleasure to meet you, Helen."

"Ah umm... same to you," Hermione hesitated.

Neville cut in, "Luna here is our head waitress. And Dean, over there, is our maître d'."

The man in question turned around from the closet at hearing his name and offered a large smile. His skin was a nice tanned brown and his eyes were warm as he approached her.

"Hello. You must be Hermione Granger."

"It's Helen, actually," Luna chimed in.

"Right..." Dean drawled, "We've all heard a lot about Dumbledore's star pupil. Top of your class, aren't you?"

Hermione blushed lightly and nodded.

"Well, we're glad to have you on board. It'll be nice having someone with trained skills around here for once," he muttered, side-eyeing Neville.

"What was that?"

"Nothing mate," Dean smiled.

* * *

The rest of the time flew by as more of the staff began filtering in. Hermione was introduced to Katie Bell, Seamus Finnigian, Padma Patil, and Susan Bones, all of whom were chefs of different sorts. They all seemed nice except for Bell, who had a bit of an attitude and a habit of flickering her thin brown her of her shoulder obnoxiously. All too soon, twelve o'clock rolled around and everyone took to their stations. Lunch was always one of the busiest times of day at Phoenix. Hermione quickly put her hair back into a ponytail, pulled on the white chefs jacket, and adjusted the toque on her head before proceeding to wash her hands twice.

Just as three parties were seated and Luna had returned with their orders, Hermione was given her first task: prepare the vegetables for the cashew rice pilaf. She rinsed the carrots and chopped them up at a great speed on her chopping block. Next, she attacked the peppers, putting them into a separate bowl. She took the two and placed them on the table where Bell was working across the kitchen. Simple enough, she thought. For the rest of the day, Hemione was kept busy. While her job only consisted of rinsing, chopping, dicing, mincing, and stirring, it kept her busy with the rush of customers Phoenix accumulated for lunch. Around four o'clock, when the lunch rush had finally calmed down, Hermione stepped outside into the brisk, dusk breeze to get some fresh air.

"You were brilliant, Hermione," Neville complimented from his seat on the pavement.

"Thanks. It was a bit tricky keeping up pace, though," she sighed, taking a seat next to him.

"Wednesdays and Fridays are even worse," Neville added, "But don't worry. You'll get used to it."

Hermione nodded. They stayed breathing in the chilly air for five more minutes before Lee Jordan, a waiter and busboy, informed them of the oncoming dinner rush.

* * *

Things around Phoenix were steadily slowing down as the time got later. Some of the staff had already packed up and went home, including the other three line chefs. Hermione was grating some fresh mozzarella cheese when an older woman who had to be around forty burst into the kitchen doors in her white chef's attire.

"Longbottom!" she called loudly.

Hermione finished grating and took the bowl over to Padma who was currently kneading dough.

"Who is she?" Hermione questioned, staring at the frazzled looking woman search for Neville.

Padma leaned over, one straight black lock falling out of her bun. "That's McGonagall," she whispered back, "Executive chef. She's the head bitch around here. Wouldn't want to get in her way."

Hermione watched as the woman finally spotted Neville and made her way towards him.

"Longbottom," she hissed, "Skeeter is coming!"

_Rita Skeeter?_ Hermione thought, astounded.

Neville's eyes turned into saucers as he spluttered, "W-what? She's not s-supposed to do a-an-another column until April!"

"Yes, well I've word that she's coming later tonight," the McGonagall woman rolled her eyes, "So, listen up! She always requests she eat a recommendation from the head chef so I'm going to start her with a pear and prosciutto salad. For the main course, I'll sauté some lobster tail with golden tomato marinara and I'm thinking of Peruvian purple potatoes for the side."

"A-alright, sounds good," Neville stuttered under her intense gaze.

"Now this is where you come in. I want her to be served dessert immediately after she finishes her plate. You know how Skeeter hates waiting. I would do it, but Dumbledore needs me to attend to a different party of his. You're going to give her a slice of chocolate sheet cake with chocolate ganache filling. She'll probably be fashionably late, meaning the last one here before closing, so you have a bit more time. And no, you cannot use the one from yesterday. It has to be fresh. Quite simple, right?"

"Uh, y-yeah, yeah! Completely! Got it!" Neville swallowed thickly.

"Good." And with that McGonagall sped off.

Hermione watched as Neville gulped and immediately felt bad for him. His nervousness rebounded off of him in waves.

Drawing her attention back to Padma, "So, am I supposed to wait around here until the last person leaves?"

"Not really. I'm guessing you can leave once everything is under control and we haven't a use for you. But, you should probably wait for Dumbledore. He'll want to talk to you after your first day."

"Alright. Thanks Padma," Hermione's stomach chose to loudly grumble at that time.

"Skipped dinner?" Padma chuckled, "Happens all the time. We're allowed to cook here as long as no customers are waiting. So, I'm sure you can make something if you want."

Hermione nodded, but made her way back to her work station. While she was hungry, she felt like she was stepping over this invisble boundary she wasn't supposed to, or good enough to cross yet. Hermione sat on the small wooden stool and waited for ten minutes before becoming bored and tired. Dumbledore never said what time he was getting back, but she hoped it was soon so she could go home and rest her feet. And maybe catch a glimpse of Rita Skeeter on the way out.

Drumming her nails on the counter, she finally conceded to make something quick to pass the time. Opening up one of the large refrigerators in the kitchen, Hermione found milk, cream, and a variety of fruit. Picking out the correct dairy products, along with some pineapple and strawberries, Hermione quickly whipped up her soon the be dessert, garnished it, and placed it in the refrigerator to chill before going back to sit down again.

She nodded off for a bit before she woke up to a hand shaking her awake.

"Helen. Helen!" Luna shook her.

"Hmm?" Hermione grumbled, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

"You were out for about an hour. No one is left here but Minnie and Neville. Oh, and Dumbledore just returned."

"Thanks, Luna," she murmured before standing up to go retrieve her stuff. Before she could get to the door, she heard a loud crash.

"Shit!" someone cursed. Hermione peeked around the corner to see Neville wearing oven mitts holding a smoking pan with burnt cake on the inside.

"Damnit, damnit, damnit!" he swore.

"...Neville?" she asked hesitantly, "You okay?"

The man slammed the pan onto the counter and turned to her, a sweating, blubbering mess.

"No, I'm not okay! This cake was supposed to be for _freaking_ Rita Skeeter, and I've gone and botched it up! She'll be wanting it any second now and I've no dessert to give! Oh, God, McGonagall is going to murder me! Phoenix is going to go down in flames! _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_" he beat himself up.

"Calm down, Neville. Maybe we can fix this," she reasoned.

The man threw his hands up. "Fix this? How the bloody hell are we going to fix this? It's completely black, Hermione! Nothing can be fixed unless another dessert magically appeared right in front of me, right now!"

Hermione thought for a second. She knew the chances were unlikely, but there was no harm in trying.

"Well... I-I," she cleared her throat, "I made a dessert that can be served right now."

"What?" he looked at her.

"I made something about an hour ago. You can use that if you want. It's ready to be served."

Neville's eyebrows knitted. "That would be perfect only if you weren't _a line chef_. I'd probably get crucified even more so if I give Skeeter served something made by a mere student!"

Hermione huffed in offence. She knew it was a long shot, but Neville didn't have to insult her. She was top of her class, after all. Before she could reply, Neville's gaze shot over her shoulder.

"Oi! Luna, what are you-!" he shouted, watching as the dreamy blond nearly ran out the kitchen, holding a pink dessert on a serving platter.

"That was my dessert!" Hermione exclaimed, confused.

"Oh my God! No one else is out there other than Skeeter!" Neville panicked.

They looked at each other before running to the kitchen doors. While Hermione decided it was best for herself not to go out, Neville pushed through the doors and followed Luna, who was already at Skeeter's side in the empty restaurant. Hermione peeked through one of the doors to watch.

"Good evening Miss Skeeter," Neville greeted the nearly white curly haired witch with pointed glasses.

"Why hello, Mister...?" she drawled, one thin, penciled eyebrow rising.

"Longbottom. Neville Longbottom. Sous chef."

"Chef Longbottom. Of what purpose do you serve, interrupting my dessert? You do know I prefer to dine alone," her high-pitched voiced said, gesturing to their empty surroundings.

"Well, erm, there seems to be some sort of mix up," he began, "That's not your dessert."

"Why, whatever do you mean? I'm the only one in here. Whose else could it be? I'm sure your lovely waitress made no mistake?"

"Uh, I-"

"I believe that's quite enough, Chef Longbottom. I do wish to eat my dessert in private."

"But-"

"It would be sad to see Phoenix receive a _Not to Eat_ in tomorrow's Daily Prophet, wouldn't it?" she asked, her hot pink coated lips curling around the edges.

"Of course," Neville bit out and returned to the kitchen.

"Neville, I'm so sorry," Hermione said immediately upon Neville's re-entrance of the kitchen.

"No, it's not your fault," he brushed her off. Hermione frowned at him.

"If I could have just made the cake properly, none of this would have happened. Well, it was nice working here while it lasted."

Outside of the kitchen, in the restaurant, Luna turned around to walk to the kitchen.

"Waitress!" Skeeter called. Luna turned back around. Half of her dessert was gone.

"Was it Chef Longbottom who prepared this dessert?" she inquired.

"No ma'am," she responded in a daze.

"Come on, out with it child. Who was it, then?" Skeeter snapped.

"Our new line chef. Helen Tansley."

"Very well," she sniffed, "Check, please?"

* * *

Hermione left soon after, feeling guilty for what had happened, even though she knew it was not her fault. Although he snapped at her a couple of times, Hermione liked Neville and could see he was a sweet person merely provoked by stress. Reaching her flat, Hermione immediately kicked her shoes off and went to bed. Once she was situated under the blankets she realized that she had forgot to see Dumbledore in his office. Cursing to herself, she fell asleep rather quickly.

The next morning, Hermione found herself lounging around in pajamas on the couch, reading a book when a knock on the door forced her to get up.

"Hermione! How was it? Must've been swell since I just saw Phoenix in the newspaper," Ginny chatted, waddling into the flat. She went straight to Hermione's kitchen cabinets and began poking around for food.

"Who is Helen Tansley? Did you meet her yesterday?"

"What? How do you know about that?" Hermione knitted her eyebrows, confused.

"She's in the _Daily Prophet_," Ginny grumbled around the Cheetos in her mouth that she found in the cabinet. Hermione ran to her bedroom, retrieving her laptop, and then ran back to the living room. She quickly loaded up the laptop and went to the homepage of the_ Daily Prophet_. She clicked the link leading to Skeeter's editorial blog.

* * *

_**To Eat or Not to Eat**_

**Rita Skeeter, Editor-in-Chief**

**March 3, 2011**

_Dumbledore switches things up at ancient old Phoenix_

_Last night, I had the opportunity to dine at Phoenix, one of London's most highly acclaimed and not to mention, highly boring eating establishments. While I hold nothing personal against Phoenix and I must admit there is something charming about the restaurant's history, I can't help but to notice how dull eating at Phoenix can be. The menu options have not changed since I've started this column four years ago and I can honestly name the whole menu by heart off the top of my head. Unfortunately, I began to lose hope in Phoenix's ability to keep its customers coming. That thought, however, was thrown into the fryer and burned to a golden crisp after last night._

_As usual, I came to Phoenix a bit early in order to survey the patrons and workers to gauge it's general atmosphere. They all seemed generally pleased, if not a bit old and tired. Later, near closing, I finally put in my order for whatever was recommended. I was then __speedily served sautéed lobster tail topped with some marinara sauce and some Peruvian potatoes on the side. While adequately pleasing, the lobster was not anything new from what I've seen from Phoenix before. And that's saying something since I only frequent Phoenix around twice a year. I was settled on giving Phoenix a solid 4 out of 5 stars, but then dessert was served._

_After a rather unpleasant run-in with Phoenix sous chef, Chef Neville Longbottom, I finally took the first bite of what seemed to be strawberry panna cotta - a cold custard dish that is clearly not offered on the menu. The panna cotta was simply delectable! It was smooth, chilled to the perfect temperature, and the strawberry flavor was prominent. Though, imagine my surprise when I tasted bit of citrus! There were hints of pineapple, and a I swear some kiwi, that were able to balance out the flavor, and succeeded in remaining a smooth, pink texture without any lumps or bits. You'd think the custard would be too sweet, but no, it was altogether perfect and maintained a great consistency throughout. _

_I finished the plate embarrassingly quickly, something foreign and barbaric to such a high-class woman as myself. Apparently, this mouthwatering dessert was made by a line cook of all people! Let me just say that Dumbledore was a smart cookie for deciding to hire Miss Helen Tansley into his kitchen. I will be coming back very soon just for this dish and am very anxious to see what else Dumbledore has up his sleeve._

_So, to eat, or not to eat? That is the question. _

_Well, this critic gives Phoenix 5/5 stars, this round._

_A definite to eat._

_~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~_

_If you want more information on Phoenix or are interested in making a reservation, click the link below._

* * *

Hermione reached the end of the article.

"Oh my God!" she gasped.

"What?" Ginny asked. Hermione turned slowly to her friend.

"I'm Helen Tansley!"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thank you, thank you to all those who reviewed! Your kind words continue to flatter and encourage me. I really do appreciate it!

Finally, it arrives! This chapter was difficult to write for me. I think it's because we're finally beginning to get into the plot of the story. It also took longer because school gets in the way. But fortunately, I am on spring break as of now, and I'll had more time to write before I return to school.

You get some Tom in this chapter! And to be honest, I'm completely scared. He has such a complex character that it's difficult to get him to work with me sometimes. He's not seen much here, but you'll get more later, along with more character from both Tom and Hermione. Please do, be patient with me. It'll all come together. Eventually. Hopefully.

On a different note, just realized that I say "and with that" or "with that said" very often. Hmm...

And with that said, here is chapter three!

* * *

**A Pinch of Salt**

**Chapter 3**

* * *

The laptop was flipped from the desk and landed with a clash onto the wooden floor.

"Damn it all to bloody _hell!_"

Tom Riddle was not a happy camper.

Cursing the day he was born, Tom stood from his leather seat to walk around the desk and then proceeded to kick the fallen laptop. Once he managed to stomp it into a heap of material, he took a moment to settle his breathing before replacing the suspender that had slipped back onto his shoulder.

"Uh... sir?" came a whiny voice as the door to the office creaked open.

Pushing his glasses further up his nose, Tom turned around slowly, raising one perfect dark brow to the platinum blond figure in the door.

"Sorry, I just heard a crash and was, uh, wondering if everything was okay."

"Your sentiment is appreciated, Malfoy, truly. However, do I have to remind you to keep your toffee nosed arse out of the affairs of your superiors?"

The blond blinked, surprised at the venom behind his boss' voice, "Ahh, n-no, sir. Of course not."

"Very well," Tom breathed heavily, "I need you, Zabini, and Goyle to go find anything you can about Helen Tansley and report back to me immediately. Let no one know of this."

"Yes, sir," he bowed, beginning to back out of the doorway.

"Oh, and Malfoy?"

"Sir?"

"Do buy yourself a new laptop."

* * *

It was a sunny Tuesday afternoon when Hermione found herself in her International Cuisine class furiously taking down notes as one of her favorite professors ended his lecture on the uses of grüne sosse in traditional German cooking.

"And that'll be it for today," he announced in his barely detectable accent, "I'll see you lot Friday."

While the other students began to filter out of the classroom, Hermione took her time to finish writing the last sentence of her notes.

"So, I've heard of your temporary post at Phoenix," Grindelwald began, approaching Hermione slowly as she began packing up, "How'd you manage to get that out of that old coot Dumbledore?"

Hermione bristled, "Well, I'd hardly call Professor Dumbledore a coot-"

"No need to take offense, Hermione," he laughed, "Albus and I have been friends for quite sometime; ever since I've stepped foot in England, actually."

"Oh," she said stupidly, surprised, "I had no idea, Professor. You always speak about him with such spite."

"Not many people do. And I do have my reasons for speaking with such 'spite,' as you say."

"I'm sorry, Professor, I didn't mean to-"

"Nothing to apologize for, dear. You were just speaking your mind," he smiled at her, "You know, Albus was the one who me helped find the missing ingredient to the icing in my famous schwarzwälder kirschtorte."

Hermione's eyebrows raised, shocked. She had no idea that her younger, German born professor had had any affiliation with Dumbledore whatsoever.

"I could hardly take credit in my successes without acknowledging dear Albus," Grindelwald continued, "Alas, we have grown apart a bit during our aging, but I still consider him a dear friend. Now, I know without a doubt that Dumbledore offered you a position because you are good at what you do, Hermione. The finest Gryffindor has seen in ages, I'm sure."

Hermione flushed under Grindelwald's intense gaze. It was easy for Hermione to like him. Along with the air of merriness and wonder that he carried with him, Grindelwald didn't seem to age. Unlike his pal Dumbledore, who is fifteen years his senior, Grindelwald, barely even had crows feet. The only dead giveaway at his age would be the faint forehead wrinkles and deep laugh lines that framed his thin lips. Other than that, he was all baby blue eyes and a head of long, curly, golden hair that had yet to gray. He was handsome in a matured sort of way.

"Thank you, Professor," she grinned bashfully.

The door to the classroom opened.

"I got your email. What is it you wanted, Gellert?" Dumbledore began before spotting Hermione, "Oh, good morning Miss Granger."

"Professor," Hermione nodded.

"I was just congratulating your Musterschüler on making line chef at Phoenix," Grindelwald smiled, "Now, pray tell Albus, do I need a reason to invite my dear old friend to lunch?"

"It's only ten o'clock, Gellert," Dumbledore countered warily.

"Perfect! We can make brunch!" Grindelwald beamed, "I bid you good day, Miss Granger."

"And I, you, Professor," Hermione smiled at his lively spirit. She made her way towards the door that Dumbledore was currently blocking.

"I must thank you again Miss Granger, for your accidental dessert last week. You really have given Phoenix a new name for itself," Dumbledore praised, though he brows kept knitted.

"No need to thank me. As you said yourself, it was purely accidental. Um, is something the matter, sir?" she asked, noticing his distressed gaze.

"I am afraid you have given the rest of the staff at Phoenix quite the run for their money. I'm sure Skeeter will expect great new things from Phoenix now," he answered tiredly, yet his eyes still twinkling, "But nothing to worry yourself over Miss Granger. I've got it under control."

"Sure thing, Professor, good day," she replied, making her way out of the classroom.

When she was halfway down the hall, Dumbledore turned and shouted, "Oh, Miss Granger! Please do remember to consider my other offer!"

Smiling, she turned back around and made her way back to her flat where she flopped onto the couch to take a much needed nap.

* * *

Back inside the classroom, Dumbledore faced his friend of twenty-seven years.

"What other offer?" Grindelwald inquired, one golden brow raising.

"Nothing concerning you, Gellert," he responded curtly.

"Come on, Albus," he grinned mischievously, "I'm one of your oldest friends. Don't you trust me?"

Sighing, Dumbledore fixed the buttons on his coat.

"I'd be a complete fool to do so."

Grindelwald laughed, "You know, the Spanish have a word for people like you."

"Let me guess. Fantastico? Asombroso?"

"I was actually thinking along lines of pendejo or soplapollas, but I suppose those work as well. But no matter, vámonos! I'm starved!"

* * *

When Hermione woke up from her nap, it was well into the afternoon. She got up and showered, before dawning her pajamas and returning to the couch to watch some television. As soon as she sat down, the phone rang. Growling, she got back up and made her way into the kitchen to answer. Looking at the caller ID, she recognized the number as Ron.

"Hello?"

"Hey, 'Mione," she could hear the smile in his voice.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your call, Ronald?"

"Well, I wondering if I could cash in tonight on that date you owe me."

"Hmm... well, I haven't anything pressing to do tonight," Hermione pondered aloud, knowing very well that she planned to munch on junk food and stay in front of the television for he rest of the night.

"Great! I'll pick you up at six. I already made reservations."

"To where?"

"Oh, just a little place on Nurmengard Street."

Hermione gasped, "Ron, you didn't!"

"I did," he said smugly, "Reservations for two at The Hallows."

Hermione squealed in excitement. The Hallows is a big name restaurant, though nowhere near as old as Phoenix, is incredibly popular and just as expensive. Last year, Skeeter gave The Hallows a good 4.5 out of 5 stars. Not to mention, the owner just so happened to be her professor and renowned chef, Gellert Grindelwald.

"I can't believe it! How did you get that reservation? The waiting period is nearly three months!" Hermione said ecstatically.

"Well, Harry actually helped me out a bit there. Working at the MI5 gets you places, you know," he chuckled, "Well I'll let you get ready. Remember, six sharp!"

"I know, I know. Got it. See you then," she parted from the phone, hanging it up.

Squealing once more, Hermione made her way to her bedroom to get ready. She decided her best plan of strategy was attacking the birds' nest on her head first. Facing the mirror over the sink in her bathroom, she struggled running a brush through her hair and promptly broke the handle off. Sighing, she grabbed another one tried taming the beast of frizzy curls once more. This time she succeeded in making her hair into an afro. Grabbing a tie, she twisted her hair just so and sprayed some hairspray, managing to get it into a sleek bun. Hermione wanted to put some makeup on, but then decided against it so Ron wouldn't think that she was trying too hard to please him. She didn't want to lead him on. Going back into her bedroom, she forked through her closet for something to wear. She ended up plucking out a simple black lace cocktail dress and some black heels.

As Hermione was packing her clutch, a knock came from the door. She hurriedly gave herself a once over in the floor mirror against her wall before scurrying to open the door.

"Ron! You're early," she greeted, answering the door.

The red-head grinned sheepishly, "Yeah, I know. I was hoping you were ready. The reservation is actually at five thirty, not six thirty. You look nice."

"You look nice yourself," she returned, gesturing towards his white button-up and slacks.

"Thanks," he blushed, "Let's get a move on, no?"

Hermione nodded in agreement and the pair left the flat.

* * *

Back at Phoenix, head chef Minevra McGonagall was shouting orders left and right. Neville was searing a thick cut of lamb while Padma and Katie were dicing up some carrots. Luna and Susan were bustling in and out of the kitchen, delivering orders. Seamus and Dean were in the employee lounge, enjoying their ten minute break.

"I'll be back mate. Need a smoke," Seamus said, nodding to his friend. Dean nodded. As soon as Seamus left the room and sat on the curb of the pavement, he lit his cigarette and took a pull. Surveying the crisp London night, Seamus noticed a blond head appear from around the alleyway of the restaurant. Two men followed behind him. Seamus ignored them until they came within close proximity of him.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked before suddenly being pulled up by his collar and forced into a headlock by one of the men.

"W-who are you?" Seamus gasped from his awkward position, his burning cigarette forgotten on the ground.

"No one to worry about," the blond sneered, "Finnigan, right?"

"How-"

"Never mind that. We have some questions though, and we're not leaving without answers."

"What questions?" Seamus quaked.

"Who is Helen Tansley?" the blond demanded.

"W-who?" Seamus quivered, confused, glancing towards the tanned man standing behind the blond.

"Helen _fucking_ Tansley. The new line chef here. What does she look like?"

Seamus' eyes widened in recognition.

"Why?" he questioned, "What's it to you?"

"That's for us to know. Now, what does the bint look like?"

"Well, why should I tell you? What are you, a couple of goons?" he chuckled nervously. The heavy, bulky man holding him tightened his grip on Seamus' neck, making Seamus gasp for more air. His eyes widened as he saw the blond retrieve a blade from his coat pocket.

"Yes," the blond spat, "We don't have time for this. You better start talking!"

"S-she just started a week ago! On Monday. She goes to Gryffindor, I think. In her last year. Top of her class. Dumbledore adores her. Great cook," he rambled out, "She has this crazy hair. Kind of small. Big brown eyes. Freckles here and there."

"Anything else I should know?" the blond raised an eyebrow, running a long finger over the sharp silver.

"Um. H-her name isn't Helen. It's Hermione. Hermione Granger."

"Good, good. Now, that wasn't too bad, was it?" he pocketed the knife, "Tell anyone about this and I assure you I will know. So don't even think of it. Got it?"

"Yep," Seamus choked out.

"Goyle, let him go," the blond ordered, "Good day, Finnigan."

And with that, the man threw Seamus onto the ground harshly and ran to catch up with the other two men's retreating forms.

* * *

The Hallows was a completely different from Phoenix. The outside walls were of gunmetal gray stone and were surrounded by green plants with spotlights infused into the dirt every two three feet or so. Inside, the walls were of dark green patterns, save for one wall that was of complete stone, similar to the exterior. There were no windows visible and the only source of light that kept the restaurant from becoming a pitch black box was the strong glass ceiling and the long lamp fixtures hanging from it, casting an gentle glow in the restaurant. Not exactly warm or inviting, The Hallows gave off a certain air that she could tell was definitely from Professor Grindelwald. It was mysterious, yet charming, and full of secrets.

The maître d' led the pair to their reserved table, near one of the walls and told them to wait a moment for their waiter to arrive.

"This is so nice!" Hermione whisper-yelled over the table excitedly.

"It bloody well should be, with prices like this," Ron muttered.

"_Ronald-_"

"My name is Bellatrix and I'll be your waitress for the evening," recited a woman with long, thick dark hair and heavily-lidded eyes.

"What can I get for you to drink?" she asked, seemingly bored.

"I'll just have a water," Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Yeah, me too," Ron chimed in.

Bellatrix tossed their menus onto their table and abruptly left to get their drinks.

"What's got her knickers in a twist?" Ron murmured. Hermione shook her head in response.

"Anyway," he went on, "Let's talk about us."

"Alright," Hermione sighed. She knew she couldn't avoid this forever.

"I honestly feel like we have a shot 'Mione. Hear me out," he shushed, seeing her about to cut in, "You're smart. You know what you want in life and you're not scared to go after it. You aren't like the other girls. Not to mention, you're pretty fit," he chuckled, winking at her while she blushed. "I know we tried it once before and it was nice while it lasted. Things with us were easy. And I'm not sure about you, but for me, it felt right. I really would like for us to give it another try."

"Oh, Ron," she exhaled.

"I don't want to pressure you into anything. I know you don't think it's a good idea. I just want to know why before I give up on us."

Hermione smiled sadly. She had never seen Ron act so mature. It gave her a good feeling that he gave them a lot of thought.

"Ron, I just think tha-"

"Here," Bellatrix cut them off. Slamming their drinks in front of them, she whipped out the pencil behind her ear and snapped, "You lot 'bout ready to order yet?"

"Umm," Hermione began, pissed at the waitresses uncalled for attitude.

"I'll have the salmon fillet with vegetables," Ron ordered.

"Filet mignon with red wine sauce, for me please," Hermione asked sickly sweet, "Medium well."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes before scurrying off without a word.

"If that _daft bint_ rolls her bloody eyes at me again, I swear I will-"

"Come on, 'Mione," Ron laughed, "Don't let a sour waitress ruin our night."

"Oh, alright," she conceded.

"Go on. What were you saying?"

"I think that it's better if we leave the past as it was. Just because it worked out in the past, doesn't mean it will work again."

"But, 'Mione, what if were just as easy as before."

"But what if it isn't, Ron? What if we both have changed too much. You and I are not the same two people that once dated two years ago. We've developed into different personalities since then. And even if, who said that I wanted it to be easy?"

"What do mean? Why wouldn't you want it to be?"

"Well, if it were easy, where's the excitement, Ron? I'll admit, our time together was great. It came naturally and I'm pretty sure most people expected us to end up together. But now since things have changed in my life, I want something different. Be honest. The only reason why we worked well was because us being together was safe. Go on. Admit it."

Ron shrugged, reluctantly admitting, "Yeah, I guess if you look at it that way. But there was more to it than that."

"True," Hermione agreed, "But now with things in our lives going so well, with you leaving the Chudley Canons and going into shop with Fred and George to me leaving med school and becoming acquainted with the culinary world, things are almost too safe. If you get what I mean. And us being together is too safe."

"So what your saying it that you don't want to settle for less? As in settle for me?" he fumed.

"Well, in a gist, yes. But in turn, that would mean you settling for me as well. At this point in our lives I don't believe we should limit ourselves to each other. Maybe down the road ten years from now, if we're both single and desperate, then it'll be the right time for us to settle. But until then, I think there are people out there better for the both of us," she ended. Biting her lip, she waited, not knowing how Ron would react. Taking a sip of water, he took a deep breath, finally looking at her.

"Okay," he breathed.

"Okay?"

"Yes. I get it. Makes sense. Sure."

"Are you mad?" she worried.

Sighing, "Of course not, 'Mione. I'm a bit disappointed, yeah, but what you said is true. We're both young and attractive, let's go out there and see what the world has to offer."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," he chuckled, "Now that I think of it, I suppose I actually agree with you. Always logical, Hermione."

"Between you and Harry, there has to be someone," she laughed. He nodded, grinning slowly. "So are we okay?"

"I think so. Being friends with you was simpler, anyway."

With that awkward conversation out the way, the pair continued to converse about mundane topics until the waitress, Bellatrix, came back out with their plates of food. Setting them down, and tossing Hermione's salad onto the table, hard enough to make a stray baby tomato fly out, she left the two to eat their dinner.

"I bet you she spit in our food."

"We can't just assume that, 'Mione," Ron laughed, "I'm sure it's fine."

Hermione didn't respond, but instead eyed the steak contemplatively. She picked up her fork and knife, and then cut into the meat.

"I can not eat this," she muttered.

"What's wrong?" Ron questioned around the load of salmon in his mouth.

"I asked for it to be medium well and this is rare. I'm going to have to ask for another."

"It doesn't look that bad to me."

"What do you mean not so bad? Look! There's blood gushing out," she criticized, scrunching her nose. Ron shook his head at her. "Unless, you're willing to share," she asked raising a brow, knowing well that Ron was not the type to share food.

"I'll get her," he said in response, waving Bellatrix down from across the room with his napkin.

"Is that a _hair_?" Hermione asked, outraged. She plucked the strand of blond hair from her potatoes. The waitress made her way over to their table.

"What is it?" she asked impatiently. Hermione narrowed her eyes at the rude woman.

"I asked for medium well, this is rare," Hermione answered, pointing towards the steak.

"Seems medium to me," Bellatrix responded, crossing her arms and smacking the gum her mouth.

"You mustn't be serious. There is clearly a pool of blood on my plate!"

"You mean that little drop. Nothing serious."

And with that, Bellatrix spun on her heel and began to leave.

"What?! Wait!"

Turning back, "What is it now?" she snapped.

"Well, for one, your tone of voice is _highly_ unnecessary and I do_ not_ quite appreciate it. On top of that, my steak _is_ in fact rare and I ask nicely that would you be ever so kind as to take it back to the kitchens and have a new one cooked for me. This time, medium well, as I asked for before."

"I will do no such thing! Just because you haven't a clue what medium well looks like doesn't mean I'm going to slave and lug it back to the kitchens!" Bellatrix ranted. At this point, they were gaining the attention of some of the other patrons in the restaurant.

"You're making a scene, Hermione," Ron cut across quietly.

"Shush, Ronald," she dismissed him.

Turning back to the waitress, she continued, "Slave? Lug? It's a bloody steak! Do I have to mention, that you are the waitress - a bad one, at that - and it is in your job description to do so! If a customer receives the wrong order, you bloody well take it back!"

Before Bellatrix could respond, Hermione cut back in, "I've had enough of this. I'd like to speak to your superior."

Bellatrix stomped away, heading back into the kitchens.

"Hermione, was that really necessary?!" Ron fumed lowly, his eyes darting to the other patrons whom were still staring at them.

"Yes, Ronald, it was_ really_ necessary! I will not have some woman speak so rude to me - to us - for no reason at all! And I want my bloody steak!" she hissed back, knowing well that she had lost her appetite.

Looking up, she saw that Bellatrix was making her way back to their table with a man in tow. Reaching the table, the man stood beside an annoyed Bellatrix.

"Good evening. What seems to be the problem here?" a strong, smooth voice asked.

Hermione's eyes bugged out her head. This man had probably the most beautiful face to ever grace the human race. He had this gleaming, seemingly lush, pile of dark, wavy strands of black hair that was styled perfectly, save for the few wisps of hair that fell onto his forehead. They stopped just above perfect dark brows and a pair of deep, charcoal brown eyes that were nearly hidden behind black framed glasses. His nose was perfectly straight and his lips were full and kissable. All of this was strategically positioned on an angular face with the most flawlessly smooth looking skin. It almost made her jealous.

"Oh, um," Hermione stammered and straightened her back, coming back to reality.

"Yes?" he encouraged patiently.

"Well," she cleared her throat, "I asked for the filet mignon to be medium well and this is obviously rare. Also, it seems that I have found a hair in the potatoes. Not to mention, your waitress here had been awfully nasty with me and my date."

"I did no such thing, Tom!" Bellatrix argued.

"Quiet down now, Bella. People are trying to dine here. Or did you forget?" the Tom fellow reprimanded, "Now, why don't you take the lady's plate and go scurry back to the kitchens."

She huffed and left their table side. The man turned back to face them.

"I am so sorry for this mistake, Miss..?"

"Granger. Hermione Granger," she blushed.

"Miss Granger," his dark eyes glinted, "I am the executive chef here at The Hallows, Chef Riddle. I will be sure to personally cook your meal and have a different waiter bring it out to you. Does that seem alright?"

"Actually, I am not very hungry anymore," Hermione declared, still angry over Bellatrix's attitude.

"Please, Miss Granger - Hermione. It is of our best efforts to have everyone leave The Hallows full and content," he countered, his polite grin tightening.

"No, I'm sure. I've lost my appetite. I think we'll have our check now. Right, Ronald?" she backed, stubborn.

"Y-yes. Of course," the red-head agreed.

"Fine," Tom gave up, "At least let us pay for your meal since it was not completely enjoyable."

"Thanks, man," Ron said, clapping Tom on the shoulder. Tom looked at Ron's hand, disgusted, but smiled at the pair.

"No need for thanks. I apologize again, especially for your waitress' behavior. Please do, enjoy the rest of your night."

"As you," Hermione responded, grabbing her clutch and standing to leave. Tom returned to the kitchens and the pair left The Hallows, Hermione still grumbling.

"That was great, 'Mione!" Ron cheered, once they exited.

"What? How so? Didn't you say everyone was staring?"

"Yeah, but I got out of paying! It was brilliant, Hermione!"

She rolled her eyes, but grinned.


End file.
